


Between the Lines

by mattapod



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Dorothea and Petra are both blissfully unaware, F/F, Implied Angst, Letters, Love Letters, They're just too cute and I love it, until they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23244694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattapod/pseuds/mattapod
Summary: Dorothea and Petra's letters throughout the months after the war, and all the stories behind the words they say."You know, I’m starting to think I’m rubbing off on you, hm? It seems we have a hold on each other, though we’re miles apart""Sometimes I dream of an arrow shooting into my heart. But it is not hurting me, and you are always holding the bow…"
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	1. A Melancholic Rose

The empire’s celebration was a fantastic display. Noblemen and those of humble births alike were allowed into the palace, and for the first time in a long while they mingled together, crest with no crest. This was the first step to rooting out the system, Edelgard had said, and what better way to show her plans than to put it in action during a party?

Dorothea had retired early to her quarters. The stomach-turning battle of wealth between each and one of the nobility, masked by controlled civility and a friendly smile, hadn’t ceased even though the Emperor made it clear she wished for everything but that in her empire. The songstress couldn’t stand it, honestly. She reckoned they had better things to do than to bicker around about how huge their houses were, or how much land they’ve earned, or how much gold and silver and unimaginable jewelry that they had gained the past month. 

The war was over, and reconstruction was going at a great pace. Everyone seemed to have found their own element rather quickly. Linhardt received his own lab, and Caspar became his bodyguard. Ferdinand was doing what he did best - being an honorable noble - but also seemed to have managed to coax Bernadetta out of her shell, if only for an hour or so. Edelgard was still as uptight as she was during the war as if it hadn’t ended yet, but even then Dorothea could see that she’s finally allowing herself to enjoy something tonight as she dragged the professor onto the dance floor, a little pink, a little tipsy, and waltzed along to the music that sounded muffled now that she had left the hall. Hubert ghosted behind in the shadows like he always did. Even Claude and Hilda came and visited, but only as special guests and no more. And then there was-

_ Petra _ .

Petra, who had left for Brigid on an urgent business with her grandfather, eager to return to the homeland she had longed for so long. Petra, whose Fódlan has improved profusely over the years, but still spoke with the occasional grammatical error that Dorothea found to be charming. Never change, Dorothea had told her fondly, the day that she left, and the Brigid princess had repeated that to the songstress as a promise they both should keep. Petra, who had plagued Dorothea’s mind since her departure. Petra, who after a month of silence had finally sent a letter that now sat on the mat, a few inches away from the doorframe.

_ Dorothea, _

_ It’s me, Petra. I have been working very hard since I’ve left, and I can say that negotiations are going very smoothly! Sorry for not being able to write to you for so long. I have been wanting to tell you everything that happened in the past month, but I was too busy.  _

_ Grandfather tells me he wants to give the crown to me soon. The rite that we are performing is like all the stories I told you back in the monastery - grandiose (did I use it right? I remember you were loving the word) but in a natural kind of way. It won’t be like Edelgard’s crowning, but it has the same sentiment. I really want you to be here to see it, but I know you are busy with your own things, and it would be very selfish to do so. _

_ How are things back in Fódlan? I heard about the party, and I am sad that I cannot be attending, but I hope you are enjoying yourself. I wonder if this letter will arrive before or after the party, as then I will know if I should be saying ‘I hope you have enjoyed’ or ‘I hope you will enjoy.’ I think you know what I am trying to say. _

_ I miss all of you very much, and you especially. _

_ Love, Petra.  _

_ 3rd of the Blue Sea, 1185. _

So there was Petra, always so direct, but Dorothea shouldn’t have expected any less. The princess had always been this way to her, and everyone else. And yet she let her heart flutter at the last sentence.

She shut the door, sliding off her shoes swiftly, and moved directly to her table where she picked up a pen and paper. Her fingers trembled in excitement. What would she tell her? About the party? About her new show? Dorothea let her pen decide, beginning without a thought.

_ 21/BSM/85 _

_ Petra, _

_ I miss you a lot as well. I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here, too, when I say that.  _

_ I can tell you’re pretty excited about your own coronation, and oh, you have no idea how much I want to be there. It’d certainly be a sight to see!  _

_ As for the party, well, it’s the usual. I’ve never been comfortable with all these nobles around me. Their talk makes me disgusted, to say the least. I left early if you’d really like to know, but I suppose when this reaches you all the way across the ocean the party’ll be a long while done now.  _

_ And grandiose? You’re definitely using it correctly. You know, I’m starting to think I’m rubbing off on you, hm? It seems we have a hold on each other, though we’re miles apart. Well, you certainly do on me, anyway.  _

Dorothea paused. She wanted to write more about her feelings, pouring her heart out to Petra to make up for what cowardice before in the monastery she had - making advances but then pulling away, sticking them into an uncomfortable limbo of friendship and maybe-but-not-really something more, or  _ whatever _ that was - but her brain tingled uncomfortably at the thought. There were already so many feelings hidden between the lines that she felt there wasn’t room for any more. Save the poor girl something more to worry about, it told her, and she followed.

_ I have a show again, which is amazing, though I won’t be singing in it. In fact, I’m the director now! All these years I spent away from the opera had me thinking that I wanted to go back somehow, but not like before. Edie’s really a great friend, to have helped me organize this stuff even though it has nothing to do with country-building. And she even told me that maybe if it’s really successful, I could go on tour around the continent! Now that’s something exciting to think of.  _

_ Dorothea. _

Her signoff seemed less optimal than usual. She never really liked her signature and had once brought it up to Petra who offered to help her choose which one looked the best. Dorothea had written up to twenty types, and the princess immediately chose one without hesitation. 

“It is very elegant and like a rose, but also shows much pride, like you,” Petra had said, looking straight at Dorothea, bearing a look almost as intense as the professor’s soul-revealing gazes, but she felt comfortable then. She felt warm.

The signature she used wasn’t the one Petra chose. And for some reason, that soured her mood. Licking the envelope shut, Dorothea tossed the letter aside, moving to flop onto her bed. 

Oh, how she missed her.


	2. The Oceans of Brigid, and an Obscure Holiday

_Dorothea,_

_I think touring is amazing! You can see so many places and meet so many people. I am very happy for you, and I am wishing that I can come to see you, but my duties are eating a lot of time. I wish you the best of luck in your opera, and I hope it becomes famous around the world!_

_My coronation happens in a week. It will be during the day when it will be most hot for this month, to ask for the light spirit’s blessing. Then I will venture into the forest, and ask for the nature spirits’ blessings. Lastly, I will ask for the love spirit’s blessing that I find a good king, or queen, to be by my side._

_Right now, the oceans of Brigid are warm to touch, unlike Fódlan, whose water is cold all the time. We have a holiday today here in Brigid celebrating the warm tide, but not because today is the first day the water turns warm. It is an old legend of a brave warrior that threw himself into the water to slay Bunyip (evil spirits in the water) that terrorize Brigid and make the water cold. Today is the day he died, but as a hero. Every year they have the same battle, but because the hero is so strong, his spirit is always getting victory. Many people in Brigid see him as an idol._

_I am finding it very funny how Fódlan celebrates the creation of wine today, and even at all._

_Love, Petra._

_25th of the Blue Sea, 1185._

\---

“Dorothea, are you knowing of books that talk about Fódlan traditions?”

“I’m sure there’s a few in the library, why?”

Petra nodded. "I want to learn more about holidays here. I have a thought about going to the library, but it is being very huge. I do not know how to start looking.” Upon stumbling into Ferdinand’s discussion of the importance of celebrating Halloween and Christmas, she had realized just how little she knew of Fódlan’s traditions aside from those two holidays. And of course, ever curious and eager to assimilate as she was, Petra immediately went on a search for information to keep at heart. She still hadn’t understood just why she turned to Dorothea instead of the librarian, but if the other girl questioned it at all, she didn’t show it.

“Ah,” Dorothea said, a melodious chuckle spilling out of her lips, “Would you like me to go with you? I’ll teach you how to find these things. It’s not that hard, really, but knowing what I do about you, you were thinking to scan each and every shelf of each column, weren’t you?”

“No!” Petra blurted, heat rising to her cheeks. Damn Dorothea, how did she always manage to read her mind? “I-I was not thinking of… That’s why I asked you for help, Dorothea!”

“Oh, you silly thing. Come on, let’s get you that book.” Dorothea grinned, her expression gentle yet somewhat mirthful. It reminded Petra of a cat.

Dorothea cocked her head at the towering bookshelf before her. Petra watched as she moved her hand up to rub her neck, a rather cute troubled expression settling on her features. 

“Huh. I swear there was a book about all the Fódlan holidays. Petra, are you having any luck? See any book titles that start with ‘Celebration’?” The songstress turned to her, nearly catching her staring. Petra’s head snapped back to facing the bookshelves so quickly she could’ve sworn she got whiplash just then.

“No. I see celery, and cel-cel…” The princess paused. How in the hell-? “Cele-lit-eyes?”

“Cellulitis?” Dorothea echoed with as much incredulity as Petra had while pronouncing the word. “Why would the library have something on cellulitis but not Fódlan’s holidays? I should take this to the professor. How is any foreigner going to understand anything about our traditions?” With an exasperated groan, Dorothea tore her eyes away from the bookshelves to walk to Petra’s side.

“It is okay,” said Petra, “I am happy knowing about Christmas and Halloween. The people here do not celebrate many holidays other than those two, no?”

“Still, I got so excited for you.”

Something sparked in Petra’s mind. That’s it-! The very reason she had gone to find Dorothea in the first place was to spend more time with her. “Then… maybe you can be teaching me?”

“Uh?” The songstress blurted, eyebrows shooting into her hair. “Hm. Yes. Yes, I could. Though I do not believe I know much about all the noble traditions and whatnot, I sure could teach you how we used to do it in the opera house! Er, if you would like to learn those, that is. I’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Of course! I will be happy to learn anything you teach me!” Petra giggled then, feeling giddy and happy all over like a puppy in love. 

And maybe she really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't resist writing more. i like to be at least one chapter ahead, and i had wanted to get through at least one, but i ended up spewing two of these chapters. for future reference, chapters will be formatted like so, with a letter and a story.  
> how i'll order the stories, though, is probably uncertain. it's highly likely that they won't follow chronological order at all, jumping from pre-timeship to post-timeskip depending on the situation.  
> as for petra's dialect, i've decided i'm still going to keep a little bit of her awkwardness with english. it's quite weird seeing (hearing?) petra speaking with absolute perfect grammar, so it's definitely going still be there, but toned down quite a lot.  
> comments are most certainly welcome. in fact, i'd really like to see what you guys think about how i wrote their interactions.  
> fyi, cellulitus is a bacterial skin infection. and, june 25th really is the holiday of wine. and cheese. dimitri is stirring in his grave at this point. boars can have a little cheese.


	3. Missing Home

_5/VRM/85_

_Petra,_

_I_ _’m not sure we do much celebrating for the creation of wine other than filling our stomachs with it, but I’ll be sure to keep the holiday in mind for trivia. Honestly, it almost seems like you know more about Fódlan than I do, and you’re not even from here! You’re always surprising me with these letters and everything inside them. I feel like a kid unwrapping a Christmas present whenever I open the envelope. That seal that you use, by the way, the one with the sea turtle, is absolutely beautiful. Is it a tradition to carve such intricate designs into the stamps in Brigid? I know it’s customary for each house to print their sigil, but there aren’t any houses in Brigid if I remember correctly. I’d love to hear how you all choose what to put on your stamps._

_By the way, when this reaches you, I’ll be on tour already! Apparently the opera is a huge hit with the people. I’d never thought that a romantic comedy would be such a success--it’s a pretty rare genre, after all. In fact, I had believed it wouldn’t be successful at all because all the big hits here are depressing tragedies. Don't get me wrong, I do love me some classics, but they’re getting awfully trite in my honest opinion, which is why I decided to stray away from the standards. But I’m not complaining. We’ll be heading west to Linhardt’s hometown, and then to the port city next to it. From there, we’ll head north to Fhirdiad and the other cities. I think Edie wants us to bring what little joy we could with our performance to the cities the Church razed. Then, we’ll go a full circle and back to Enbarr._

_I hope the love spirits bring you a good partner. I’m not having much luck with love, like before, but I suppose I can’t really help it. It’s just fate. By all means, though, I’m sure your coronation will go super well, and that your people will love you as their queen. I can’t even bear to imagine how much you must’ve longed to return to your homeland. All those times you’ve talked about anything Brigid told me just that. And that night… It’s what you really deserve after all these years of being so far away from your home - to be embraced once again._

_Dorothea._

\---

Dorothea couldn’t sleep. The more she closed her eyes, the more she wanted to toss and turn and get up and walk around. So, the most natural thing was to do exactly that.

Yet, the moment she opened her door, she wanted to close it and snuggled back into the sheets. A cold wind blasted her face, whipping her hair behind her, and whistled into the night carelessly. She shivered.

If not for the door that opened down the hall and the slumped figure that stepped out of it, Dorothea might’ve just gone back to sleep. In the darkness, the figure blended in with the shadows of the trees in the yards, but a small candle lit up a portion of the purple garb near their torso. In a way, it was like an ignis fatuus that Petra had told her about - a legendary ghost light that often guided travelers back to their camps and away from whatever treasures they were guarding. Yet, she knew that the figure was no ignus fatuus. From the way that they carried themselves, with poise even though hunched, and feet moving with the practiced agility of a cat’s, Dorothea knew exactly who it was.

 _Petra_ … 

Wordlessly, she grabbed a coat and followed, worried about what the princess was doing. Her stature… was one of sadness and grief. Has something happened? 

Petra stopped on the pier and sat down, her legs hanging over the edge. Facing the horizon, the princess’s face was illuminated by a gorgeous mixture of blue and alabaster and yellow and orange from the moon and the candle. The candle lit up just enough for Dorothea to catch that the girl wasn’t wearing shoes, for they were sitting beside her. 

Something glistened orange on her cheek, capturing the light of the candle. A tear.

Two words that Dorothea couldn’t understand fell out of the girl’s mouth. Breathy, quivering, and filled with melancholy. “Dur froñia…”

Her heart ached for the girl. Unconsciously, she stepped forwards, longing to reach for her and pull her into a hug, but the only thing that did was displace a rock. It tumbled, and Dorothea watched as if it went in slow motion. _Clunk, clunk, clunk_ , it wailed, as it rolled down the stairs and landed at the bottom. Petra snuffed out the candle in an instant, plunging the pier into darkness. 

“Who is there?” She called, voice trembling ever so slightly. 

_Should I go? Should I stay?_ Dorothea debated, she pressed her back against the corner of the stairs leading to the garden from the pier. What would Petra think if she went out? She’d certainly ask if Dorothea was following her, which she totally was, and that’s creepy. If she didn’t, then there’d certainly be trouble the next morning, and Petra… she’d be alone. Just like she was now, sitting in darkness, or perhaps the quick footsteps were hers? Dorothea listened intently, and thought about how Petra’s footsteps sounded. That was hers, definitely. And it was getting louder and louder, and _very_ quickly. _Should I run…?_

"Dorothea? What are you doing here?”

“Wah!” The songstress yelped, leaping up in an instant. “I-uh, I wanted to watch the moon! You know, ‘cause it’s er, a full moon today-well not really, but it will be soon-and I just wanted to come to the piers because I saw you-I-I mean-” 

“Were you following me?” Under the moonlight, Dorothea could barely make out Petra’s confused frown.

Dorothea threw her hands up in defense. “No! Well, yes, but it’s not like that, I swear!”

The princess’s frown only deepened. “What _is_ it like?”

“I just-ah,” Dorothea sighed, her shoulders slumping. There’s no way she could get out of this. “I saw you, and you… you were crying just then, weren’t you? Are you… alright?”

At that, Petra turned away indignantly, suddenly fancying the stairs around them. “Yes. I am very fine.”

“I don’t… I don’t believe that. I’m sorry.”

Petra didn’t respond. For a while, part of Dorothea was tempted to stand up and leave and pretend nothing had ever happened between them. But the more sentimental part of her made her reach out and grab the princess’s arm, making her turn back in surprise.

“Something’s bothering you, I can tell. You’re not normally like this. Do you want to talk about it?” Dorothea tried, lowering her voice to a whisper. She hoped she was being as soft as she wanted to.

The other girl bit her lip, but even so Dorothea noticed that it was trembling. She hated the sight, and it made her sad as well. “Come, sit down. Talk your heart out. It helps, really, it does. I’ll listen. Then, tomorrow, we can pretend this never happened.”

Hesitantly, Petra moved to sit on the steps. “I am… having much sorrow,” she began. “It’s a foolish thought, but-” Petra’s voice caught in her throat. Dorothea waited patiently, despite her heart crying out for her to console the girl and bring her into a hug. 

“I… am wanting very much to go home. Yesterday was my parent’s funeral day. I was so small I cannot remember what it is feeling like, but I was always lighting candles for them. But I forgot. I was too busy. And it is making me feel-” Petra broke off. She ran a hand through her fuchsia hair that she wore down during the night, searching for the word, “very empty and dark. I do not have understanding why.”

Dorothea found herself frowning. “You’re homesick, aren’t you?”

“No, it is not that. I do not wish to return home, even if I really miss it. I do not understand how to describe this in Fódlan, but in Brigidian we call it _saudade_.”

It rang a bell, somewhere in the depths of Dorothea’s mind. She had seen that word in some tragedy’s script, somewhere, somehow, some time. It meant… to long for something that had passed. Thinking of the word struck a nerve. Without a second thought, she pulled Petra close to her, and the girl fell limp in her arms. Her shirt began to turn wet, and it was only then that Dorothea realized Petra had been crying all this time she was talking.

She said nothing. Only held Petra in silence, staring at the moon, her own tears falling for the princess, but with a hope that she would, one day, be allowed to return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just read a thread about petra's parents, and was suddenly struck with intense homesick feels. i imagine that dorothea's there to console petra all throughout their time, and the thought turned into something concrete, right here.  
> as for Brigid's language, it's an amalgamation of like 20 languages, and my own random accents and added letters. in the near future, you may probably recognize some words i took from irish gaelic and portuguese, and maybe from the inheritance cycle's (by christopher paolini, it's amazing, highly recommend it) ancient language.  
> "dur froñia" means "my parents" in this random new language  
> as per usual, enjoy, and dont hesitate to comment about anything!  
> like pirates, if you will.  
> yar.


	4. Birthday Girl

_ Dorothea,  _

_ I do not know much about Fódlan by myself. Do you remember the book you gave me on my 18th birthday? It talks about much history of your land of home, and I cherish the book very much. I still read it sometimes, and I am always learning something new! Like how today is the holiday for love. I must confess I am also not having much luck with love as well, even though the spirits have already given me their blessing. I now bear a mark of love, a small love heart on my thumb. I am believing that the spirits will guide me, however. I have a feeling they have already done so. _

_ Brigid’s stamps are made by the people, and so everyone’s is different. I chose a turtle because it is what my father was described as: mild, gentle, but fierce when it is required. I want to be like him, like a turtle. My grandfather’s stamp is a shark, and my advisor’s is a beaver. I cannot speak for why they have chosen the animals, but it is always something close to their hearts, as is mine. _

_ Also, I am so glad your opera is having huge success! I wonder if you can go overseas and come to perform here, but I think that is very hard. There is a language difference and I don’t think many people in Brigid will understand the jokes in your comedy, but I am also thinking that maybe I can get someone to help you translate.  _

_ And Dorothea, do not be sad that love has not come to you. Here in Brigid, we always say that, when the time is right, the right person will catch your eye and steal your heart away. This has happened to me once, but unfortunately, I had to leave her. I still think about her a lot. _

_ Love, Petra.  _

_ 16th of the Verdant Rain, 1185. _

\---

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you~”

Petra let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Dorothea had set her up so perfectly that she had actually believed the songstress's past date was coming out to get her. Now that Petra paused to think about it, the idea was quite absurd. They were in a war, after all, and Dorothea hadn't been seeing anyone for a while, as she hadn't been complaining at all.   


Dorothea’s face was lit beautifully by the candles on the small muffin. Her smile complemented the scene even better.

“Surprised?” She asked, grinning even wider. 

Petra deadpanned. “I am having much surprise, yes. I am also quite mad at you.” 

“Oh?” Dorothea frowned, but Petra knew she was toying with her. “Whatever for, I wonder?”

“For pretending there was trouble. I was very worried and ran here immediately, but now I have understanding. Your acting is very good.”

Dorothea chuckled, taking Petra’s hand and leading her to the window of the Goddess Tower. “Of course, dear. It’s my true calling and used to be my job, after all.” The songstress put up a finger. “But first, make a wish.”

Petra paused. She struggled to recall the last time she celebrated her birthday - that was three years ago since the professor disappeared - but she vaguely remembered that the professor had told her to do the same, in a very roundabout way.

_ "What is something you yearn for? _ ” The professor had asked, and Petra told her peace for Fódlan and Brigid. “ _ That’s very nice. Now blow the candle, and keep that wish in your heart. Stay forever true to it. _ ”

“I wish that-” Petra started, but Dorothea giggled and pressed her finger to the princess’s lips.

“Shh! Did no one teach you not to say your wishes out loud? They don’t come true if you do!” Dorothea chastised, but grinned all the same. Petra felt her heart pound in her ears. Dorothea was like a child then, cute and innocent, but beautiful all the same. Her smile showed her dimples, the tiny quirk in her eyes, and the wrinkles at their sides. Her hair flew in the wind, exposing her emerald earrings, which Petra wanted to reach out and touch. She should’ve kissed her then, in the Goddess Tower, and confessed her love.

Petra had wished for a future together.

\---

_ Dorothea, _

_ I do not understand why I have not thought of this, but I can help you translate. If you send over the papers of your play, I can rewrite it into Brigidian for you. Before you reply, do not worry about making me busy. I am always able and willing to help you! _

_ Recently, the negotiations have been making me frustrated. I did not know that Claude became the king of Almyra, but I believe he will help me very much in establishing trade ties with the northern lands. It is within the Empire that I am having trouble. Edelgard is very helpful already, but the nobles are giving us much frustration. They are not willing to accept and provide aid to the people of Brigid, and have called us vulgar names. _

_ I wish everyone could be as accepting as you, Dorothea. When I am feeling sad, I think of our conversations. And then I wish you were here with me so we could talk more. _

_ Petra. _

_ 28th of the Verdant Rain, 1185. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet.  
> apologies if my upload schedule is a little hectic, if not completely random. i don't really plan these chapters and they just happen when i'm feeling inspired.   
> again, thanks for reading! comments are always welcome.  
> (apparently last chapter was uploaded and renewed 5 times in a row, and i have no idea why. seems as though my computer glitched and reloaded four times too many. if your inbox was spammed, i'm terribly sorry.)


	5. Take Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ownFMreKi6o) while reading if you want a more immersive experience

_ 03/HbM/85 _

_ Petra,  _

_ Goddess, I feel so bad. I haven’t been able to write to you for so long, but it’s just that we’ve been traveling so quickly and been so busy that I haven’t got any time to sit down and write at all. Our final tour show ends this week, thankfully. Every day after the shows I just collapse, and I wake up to get ready for another day of directing. Sounds quite taxing, doesn’t it? _

_ Though, I’m sure it can’t be any harder than ruling a country. Those dastard nobility, I curse them for you. Just thinking about how they must’ve squabbled like xenophobic children makes my bones itch. I don’t think Edie has gotten to breaking the nobility status yet, considering all that’s on her plate already. It’s hard work, mind you, but I really do believe she could handle it. I’m sure everything will be fine. It’s you and Edie we’re talking abo------ _

_ See, even now I’m bouncing along on a carriage and not on steady ground. We just hit a bump, and I’ve ruined the page! The problem is, there aren’t any more letters I could write on! I should’ve thought this out. What a predicament, wouldn’t you agree? _

_ Anyways, I was saying that you are one of the most dedicated, strong women I know, and I’m sure you’ll go on to do great things. Well, for now, you’ll be getting a great trade deal and what not. If any of the particular nobles say anything else to you, remember his name and I’ll be sure to exclude him from our shows. If he comes, that is. _

_ And dear, even if I’m not there with you, I’ll always be here for you. We can talk at any time. Don’t worry about ranting, or sending too long of a letter. I’ll gladly read through all of them and reply, just like you listened to me in our academy years. I’ll even let you in on a little secret. I keep all your letters because they’re reminders that you’re out there. It gives me comfort, somehow. I don’t understand it either. _

_ Love, Dorothea. _

_ P.S. I’ve attached a copy of the script. But make sure not to waste your time on it, as I know you must have better things to do. Though, I am curious, who was the lucky lady? (If you’re comfortable talking about it, of course.) _

\---

Everyone knew it was uncharacteristically strange that Petra, who was punctual on a regular basis, hadn’t come to the strike force meeting. Immediately after, Dorothea had gone searching for the girl, and found her curled up in bed, sneezing and coughing and looking anything but great. 

“Oh, Petra, what happened to you?” Dorothea said, inviting herself into Petra’s room. 

“I am having an illness. I believe it is because I stayed up too late yesterday,” Petra replied, breaking into another fit of coughs. 

“You poor thing. Hold on a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Dorothea returned with a mug of hot chocolate in hand minutes later and stumbled upon Petra trying to get out of bed, still positively sick. “Hey, now!” The songstress admonished, “Get back into bed. I won’t have you going anywhere.”

“I still need to finish my papers,” Petra protested weakly, “I have to write to grandfather and organize troops from Brigid.”

“No, no. You’re staying put, period. The work can wait.”

The princess opened her mouth to protest but closed it when Dorothea handed the mug of hot chocolate to her. She held the mug hesitantly, then took a sip. Dorothea sat down on the bed beside the sick girl, fiddling with her fingers as silence fell between them, punctured by the occasional sniff and cough.

It was Petra who broke the silence. “May I rant?”

“Of course, dear. My ears are yours to bend.”

And rant she did, about her grandfather’s eagerness for her to return home and how he couldn’t understand her want to stay and battle. Dorothea listened, and responded sometimes with, “oh, that’s terrible!” or “breathe, Petra. It helps with the coughing,” when the girl overtaxes her throat.

Though Dorothea couldn’t understand politics, and never cared to, it all was just as annoying to her as they seemed to be to Petra. Gradually, their conversation evolved into something less formal. They talked and talked about everything and anything either of them could think of. Edelgard’s relationship with the professor, who had recently just returned, and how Bernadetta had finally been coaxed out of her room again. Caspar’s boisterous laugh, Linhardt’s new studies, Sylvain’s new girl, and Lysithea’s secret love for sweets were all topics. Petra spoke about what little she remembered of her parents, and Dorothea returned with details of living on the streets. The songstress found her memories came easier to her, less intruding, and less like a past she wanted to throw away when she told it to Petra. The girl embraced each and every little thing that Dorothea thought was wrong with herself and somehow made it sound right. All of it.

It was only when Edelgard had come knocking on the door wanting to check up on Petra that they stopped.

“Dorothea? What’re you doing here?” Edelgard had asked, a strangely amused expression - which Dorothea did not like at all, mind you - settling upon her features.

“Same as you,” Dorothea quickly dismissed, standing up to leave, “Just checking on Petra. Turns out she was sick.”

“Hm. I won’t disturb you two, then.” There was mirth in Edelgard’s parting words, then she closed the door swiftly. Dorothea bit her lip nervously.  _ Does she know? _

It didn’t matter to her soon after, as they continued their conversation late into the night. As Petra’s eyes fluttered closed, and her words became slurred with sleep, Dorothea moved to sit on the floor and rested her head against the bed and closed her own eyes. They spent a night together like this, and would do the same many more nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double upload? i guess so.  
> how was the song? i'm thinking i might put more in future chapters. to get the feels going and whatnot.  
> have a nice day.  
> i'm surprised no one has talked about pirates in the comments yet.  
> how's about dogs?


	6. Wounds

_Dorothea,_

_The script is very interesting! I am finding it a challenge to translate the jokes, but it is a very fun challenge. I am sure the people of Brigid would be loving the play if your company were to perform it here._

_I have heard of the terrorists attacking the capital, and I am glad that they were put down very quickly. It seems that they practiced dark magic, from what the messenger told us. I am glad that no one was killed in the attack, and I believe this only strengthens Edelgard’s rule. Now the people definitely have something to look up to her for._

_However, I do know that some people were hurt, and among them, you were. I am mainly writing to ask if you are okay, but if you reply, then you must be. But until then I will not know and will keep on worrying. I am only hoping you were not as unlucky (I cannot find the right word to describe it. Unlucky is the wrong word) as that time in the monastery. I almost had a heart attack._

_I am wishing you and the others a fast recovery, even if it is a small wound. May the spirits watch over you._

_Love, Petra._

_14th of the Horsebow, 1185_

\---

It was a horrible feeling. It felt like something was ripping her chest apart, forcing her bile to rise up into her throat. It felt like her heart was about to leap out of its resting place. It felt like panic and pain, to see Dorothea fall to the ground, clutching where she had just been slashed.

Petra had rushed over in alarm, mercilessly cutting through the attacker in an onset of fury. She had screamed and screamed for Linhardt, but he was nowhere near. The only thing she could do was cradle Dorothea as she winced and groaned, her hand pressed tightly to her abdomen. She could only watch in horror as blood- _so much blood_ -poured out from Dorothea’s wounds and leaked onto the princess’s fingers. 

Even so, Dorothea had smiled. They had fought just two days ago, a flood of fear and unrequited feelings that pushed them both to distance themselves from each other. Dorothea had come back from a rather horrible date, to which Petra vehemently expressed distaste for. But of course, she hadn’t understood Dorothea’s worries. With a kingdom to inherit, the princess had a future laid out for her, while the songstress was forced to continue clawing for a better life. Petra had never felt so remorseful in her whole life. 

Yet, as Dorothea so often explained to her, tragedy had a way of bringing people back together. Like the woman in all those operas, Petra had rushed to the one she loved in an instant, throwing away all their quarrels for another, possible future chance at professing her feelings. 

_You cannot die on me_ , Petra had screamed. That’s what they always say, isn’t it? And the man would hold on, just for his lover.

The professor, showing just a sliver of panic had rushed over shortly, but it felt like an eternity waiting. Even as Dorothea was carted to the sky and back to the monastery on a pegasus, even as the skirmish with the damned bandits finished, Petra’s throat was still tight, like a snake had coiled around it and was choking her to death.

Petra never left Dorothea’s bedside until the very moment she opened her eyes the next morning. Despite her pounding heart and overflowing worry, she couldn’t bring herself to utter a word to Dorothea. Her feelings have already caused the songstress so much pain. She was afraid that her tongue would slip, and she’d say something wrong. She didn’t want to risk losing what friendship they had regained in the tender moment that they had on the battlefield.

So instead, she saved her saghert and cream from her lunch kitchen duty and told Mercedes to pass it off as her own when she visited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like my chapters have been getting progressively shorter.  
> i'm going to be a little more busy within the next weeks, and it'll probably be a little longer until i update again.  
> in the meantime, enjoy :-)


	7. Tongue Twister

_ 23/HbM/85 _

_ Petra, _

_ Thankfully, I’m quite alright and quite flattered that you wrote a letter just to wish us a fast recovery. I’ve relayed the message to the others that were more severely injured, as I thought they could use the encouragement more (I only twisted my ankle from falling off my horse, after all. It was really only very embarrassing. My dignity was hurt more than my body). They were rather pleasantly surprised, and all told me to thank you. _

_ Edie’s told me nothing, but I do believe that something sinister is going on. It isn’t in my place to pry. All I can do is hope for her the best and pull her away from her duties to make sure she’s not overworking herself. Though, I’m sure our dear professor would be doing that plenty. _

_ On another note, the company’s taking a little break, me included. I think it’s well deserved for all of us. We did go on a huge, huge tour all around the continent, after all. Heh. The news has caused quite an uprising in the public, which really shocked me. I hadn’t paused to think about how famous the opera has gotten because I was so busy trying to make each performance go as smoothly as can be, and to make do with whatever stage we were given. I’m only now having a newfound respect for my overbearing director in my time as a diva. It’s no wonder he was so irritable, with all these things at stake! _

_ Recently, I can’t help but reminisce about our time in the monastery. I don’t really know why I’ve only thought about it now, but I haven’t forgotten my promise to you that I’d learn more about your culture. It didn’t seem fair to me that you had to start from scratch, and now that I’m learning Brigidian by myself, it seems even less fair (if that’s possible). Your lessons back in the academy certainly helped, but I’m still miles away from being able to form a coherent sentence. In fact, every time I try I feel like I’m either eating my own tongue or spitting everywhere. And I bet my grammar is horrible, too. Now I finally know why you found it so hard to speak, even though you’ve mastered writing and reading.  _

_When I study Brigidian, though, I feel closer to you somehow, and it makes me just a little happier than I already am. I guess I just really miss you. When’s the next time you come to_ _Fódlan?_

_ Thinking about you,  _

_ Dorothea. _

_ P.S. I am very, very, very sorry for missing a letter for your birthday. I had planned to write you something, I really did, but who knew fate worked in such tragic ways. I hope you enjoyed your gift nonetheless. It’s a bonsai tree, and I picked one that looked like the tree you always climbed. Bernie taught me how to carve little figurines, and if it’s really so bad you couldn’t tell, that’s a mini-you sitting in it. _

\---

Dexterity and skill was something Dorothea had always boasted. She was adept with both her left and right hand, and always appeared a wonder to others when she wrote with one and sealed letters with the other. She had near perfect limb coordination, something naturally required of her in opera as she pranced around the stage. Yet, no matter how fast she flapped her tongue to trill an ‘r,’ or puckered her lips to say an ‘ö,’ it always sounded more like she was having trouble swallowing than like she was trying a new language. And when Petra shook her head for what seemed like the thousandth time, Dorothea threw up her hands in defeat.

“This is madness! Am I still not saying it right?” She tried again, to no avail.

“No, no. The Brigid ‘ö’ is different from Fódlan’s ‘o.’ Er…” Petra mouthed the pronunciation, eyes darting up as she tried her best to think of a way to explain it. “Okay. Say ‘ay,’ like in day.”

“Ay.”

“Now, make your lips like a circle when you say it.”

“Ay-eoh?”

“Yes! Now faster.”

Dorothea frowned, as she was certain she sounded like an idiot already but complied anyway. Petra’s face lit up, and the songstress’s lips automatically curved into a smile. Thank the Goddess, she  _ finally _ did something right.

“That is it! Now speak with me: Du öno fràm.”

“Dew ew-no frame.” Dorothea bit her lips, searching for Petra’s approval. She received little.

Petra giggled at Dorothea’s obvious struggle, her eyes crinkling in mirth. “That is close enough.”

Dorothea huffed, though her heart was more than content just to hear the other girl laugh. Maybe she could do it again…? “Now, don’t go laughing at me. I’m surely not the worst student, am I?”

"You are my only student. You are the best  _ and _ the worst,” Petra said matter-of-factly, but then burst into a fit of giggles again when Dorothea tried the phrase. She scowled, but her heart fluttered. How could one person be so bubbly and so,  _ so _ cute?

“Alright, I give up. Speaking of, are you ever going to tell me what the phrase means?”

Petra shook her head, still grinning. “You are having to find out yourself. I will not be telling you soon.”

“Oh, you! For all I know, you could be telling me to say ‘I eat dirt’!”

“No! I will never do that to you.” Yet, the moment Petra said that her cheeks colored. Dorothea wondered why that could be. “It is something… appropriate, I promise.”

“Hmph. If you say so.” Then, a moment later, she added sheepishly, “Could we… maybe do this more often?”

Petra nodded then smiled, a grin so bright it almost made Dorothea go blind. The songstress’s heart pounded in her chest, so loudly she could barely hear Caspar arguing with Ferdinand only a few meters away over her own heartbeat. She felt warm all over, even though she was standing in the shade. At that moment, the songstress could safely say that she was definitely, wholly, and utterly, in  _ love _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooo boy, the past weeks were a doozy  
> i'm back for good now :D  
> thanks to all of you that are still keeping up with this little fic.  
> this ship is still very much my life source  
> anyone want to take a guess as to what "du ono fram" means?


	8. Of Flowers and Metaphors of Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a more immersive experience, listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nml-_YE2OU)

_ Du vrogh, aein perlurn,  
_ _ Weírs öno, aein ‘aia.  
_ _ Enda hríd latha,  
_ _ Önae haeren leim un ròs.  
_

_ Ciam a un klorho saudado,  
_ _ Nuòr et a nach beò?  
_ _ Ciam a un ròs trínuim,  
_ _ Nuòr et kenach abr? _

_ Et a ènno nuòr du sel,  
_ _ Öna gháire faoi leim un míle flora,  
_ _ Et a ènno nuòr du reilein,  
_ _ Du öno fràm,  
_ _ Hríd du finalò entanda,  
_ _ Le vregos öno hure t’ dur. _

\---

_ Dorothea, _

_ I am joyous that you are trying to learn the language of Brigid again. I will not be telling you what the poem means, as I have not told you the meaning of that phrase I taught you (it’s in there. Do you remember it?). I believe that when you understand this poem, you will be ready to have a full conversation in my native language. Until then, I can answer any question you have about my language and help you with grammar. Also, I have finished translating! It should come with this letter. You can read it over if you want to. I think it will be good practice.  _

_ I am loving your gift, and the tree is growing very well. The wooden carving of me is very cute, but I think I’ll like it even more if there was a carving of you too.  _

_ Also, Happy Birthday, Dorothea! I am sending you three packages now. The letter, the translated script, and your gift. It is a necklace made from Brigid sea stones.  _

_ The one in the center is called abalone, and it is a stone the people of Brigid use in prayer for fortune. I have prayed for you with it, and I have hope that the spirits will bless you with their protection.  _

_ The one that looks like a diamond is called aquamarine. It is the stone of courage, which I believe you have a lot of. You are always making yourself seem smaller than others, but you are the bravest person I know.  _

_ The last one (it looks like a blue turtle egg) is called larimar. It is the stone of the sky and the sea, and it is also a stone of healing. The stone is very rare and carries much meaning for me. I have one as well. It makes me think of you because your smile is like the sky. Bright and beautiful, but sometimes clouded. Though I cannot see you now, I can imagine the look. I hope the present will make the clouds go away just for a little bit. You look the most beautiful when your smile is true. _

_ Love, Petra. _

_ 29th of the Horsebow Moon, 1185. _

\---

“I like red.”

“But red is such a melancholic color, isn’t it? Bright and vibrant, but it stands for so many horrible things. Anger, blood, war…” Dorothea trailed off, her sangria colored hair flying in a gust of wind. Petra’s eyes furrowed as she desperately tried to understand what the girl meant. Those were words, alright. With the exception of ‘melancholic’, she understood all of it. They were simply put in a sequence that made no sense to her.

“What is, uh, melon…” How did the word go again?

Dorothea’s eyebrows shot up in amusement, making Petra feel more than just a little incompetent in her vocabulary. “Melancholic? Oh, it just means sad, but in a fancy way.”

“Sad…” Petra echoed, her mind still in knots, “How can a color be sad?”

“It’s figurative language.” Dorothea hummed nonchalantly, but it didn’t sound quite right to Petra. It sounded… empty.

“Ah. I am having understanding. If you do not like red,” Petra decided to continue on, choosing not to pry into Dorothea’s manner. “Then what is your favorite color?”

Dorothea hesitated. “Blue and… fuchsia.” The songstress looked at Petra with an intent gaze as she spoke.

Fuchsia wasn’t a color she recognized, but Dorothea had made sure that she did, because after all, “how could you not know such a beautiful hair color? And your own, no less?” When Petra revisited the topic of colors with Bernadetta, she told the girl that her favorite was now sangria.

The greenhouse wasn’t empty the next morning. Petra always rose early and walked around the monastery, enjoying the fresh air and silence. She sometimes fished, fed the cats, or helped in the kitchen despite not having kitchen duty. On off days, she’d go to the forest and climb trees to expend her agitation, occasionally finding Claude there to rant to. She’d often visit the flowers in the greenhouse to check up on the roses that the housekeeper let her plant, and she’d developed a habit of humming to herself while tending to them. Today, however, there was already singing before she even went inside.

It was a beautiful, evoking song from an opera that Petra had seen a long time ago when she had first come to Fódlan and when Manuela was much younger and much more sprightly. It was an opera of prayer, of love, and of promises. The song rose to a high note that was sustained with vibrato, then fell into silence. Petra’s heart pounded a little too loudly as her hand ghosted on the handle to the greenhouse. She pressed her ears to the door. She’d recognize the impassioned voice anywhere.

Just as the song progressed into its second verse, a cat brushed up against Petra’s legs, making her jolt in surprise. Her hand slipped on the handle, pushing the door open on accident. She stumbled forwards, bent with momentum, taking a few more steps to stable herself until she looked up to meet Dorothea’s eyes and fell backward with a surprised cry.

“My, I wasn’t expecting an audience,” Dorothea commented.

“S-sorry!” Petra blurted, scrambling up, “I was not meaning to run into the greenhouse. There was a cat-” She pointed to nothing, then realized the cat had already fled. Her cheeks immediately colored. “Ah! It was being there! I am being very sorry-”

“Whoa, darling. It’s alright. After performing for so many times I’d have to get used to a little audience, right?” Dorothea assured her, though her eyebrows were slightly furrowed. “What’re you doing here?”

The princess pointed sheepishly to the roses beside Dorothea. “I am here to feed them water.”

“Oh? You planted them?”

Petra nodded, and her face mirrored Dorothea's as she broke into a grin.  


“They’re turning out to be quite charming, aren’t they? In fact, I was just singing to them before you came crashing in.”

“Charming?” Petra asked, cocking her head in confusion. “How can roses be charming?”

“I… don’t really know how to explain it. It kind of works the same way when you say a book is lovely, you know?”

“I am not understanding.”

Dorothea sighed. “Ah, well. That’s alright, you’ll understand sooner or later.” Then she turned to the flowers and ran her thumb over a petal. “People say that the plants reflect their planter,” she glanced at Petra with a small smile, “I’m thinking that’s quite true, here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a full transcript of the poem, as close to whatever i distorted and shot through google translate twenty million times:
> 
> I wait, in purple  
> For you, in red  
> A pastel moment  
> You're just like a rose
> 
> How is a color melancholic,  
> When it is not alive?  
> How is a rose charming,  
> When it cannot speak?
> 
> It is only when I see your smile  
> Bloom like a thousand flowers  
> It is only when I realize  
> I love you  
> That I finally understand  
> The words spilling out your lips.  
> \--  
> i wrote this? and i'm mildly proud of it? also, for those who are still guessing what du ono fram means... ;)


	9. A Dance of Sky and Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a more immersive experience, listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbjZPFBD6JU)  
> knowledge of fe fates is suggested but not required.

2/WM/85

_ Petra, _

_ This necklace is ABSOLUTELY gorgeous. I love the hues and shades, and how the stones were cut. I’ve never seen anything like it. And it certainly did put a smile on my face. I find it quite charming and surprising how you’re able to read my emotions from a sea across like you always did. Now I’ll have something to remind me of you. _

_ I do have to ask, was the larimar part of your dress during the ball? The blue turtle shell (as you put it) pattern is something I definitely recognize, but I can’t seem to remember where I recognize it from. What I do know is that you looked positively stunning in it, though I believe I’ve said that to you on the day. I’d love to see you in it again.  _

_ T _ _ he transcript is probably amazing, even if I can’t understand a word of it. If I remember correctly, there are a few mixed Brigidian actors and actresses in the cast. I’ll see if I can arrange something with them, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to perform in Brigid. _

_ But also, you’re an evil thing. You know I can barely read Brigidian. The only words I recognize are you, me, rose, and the two colors. Hmph. A challenge is a challenge. I’ll be writing to you in Brigidian before you know it! (Which is, unfortunately, probably like five months later.) _

_ Until then, _

_ Slán! _

_ Dorothea. _

\---

Dorothea rested her left hand on Petra’s waist, holding out her other hand for the princess to take. Hesitantly, Petra slipped her hand into Dorothea’s with a slight frown.

“Are you being sure?” Petra asked. Dorothea noticed that she was tensing up and squeezed her waist, making her yelp and shy away from her touch.

“Of course, dear. Don’t want you stepping on other people’s feet, do we?” Dorothea winked, and she couldn’t help but feel a little smug as Petra’s cheeks tinted. 

“I am being sorry for stepping on your foot last time,” the princess said sheepishly, glancing towards Dorothea’s feet, “I will not be doing that again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Better to step on me than someone else.”

And with that, they began. It was wholly Dorothea’s idea to train Petra in Fódlan’s dance, as the girl had expressed concern that she’d be asked by someone and wouldn’t know how to follow. The songstress wondered if Petra could hear her heart running miles and miles, stomping up a storm inside her chest as they circled in her room without music. The way that Petra’s brows furrowed as she tried to follow and remember the footsteps, how she giggled when Dorothea began humming a classic piece… if Petra didn’t step on her foot soon, Dorothea would fall head over heels herself from infatuation. Her heart had already tripped too many times.

Petra’s rhythm began to fall apart, and she haphazardly stepped forwards with her toes where her heels were supposed to go first. Dorothea paused, noticing how they weren’t on the same footing anymore.

“Remember, Petra,” said Dorothea, moving to be in line with the other girl. “Heel.” She took a step forward with her right heel then rolled onto her toe. “Toe.” Her other foot arced a half-circle toe-first. “Toe.” Then, she closed the gap between her legs, rolling both her feet flat on the floor. “Heel,” she finished, turning back to look at Petra with a grin.

The girl met her eyes with a slight pout and lamented, “I am not being able to do this for a long time. I will never be able to become good before the ball.” A moment later, she added, “It is very late. I should be leaving.”

Impulsively, Dorothea reached out to touch Petra’s cheek, but shied away at the mast second and moved to pat her shoulder instead.  _ What am I doing? _

“Never say never. You’ve already improved a lot! Besides, we can keep doing these lessons.” When Petra nodded and began to turn away, Dorothea pursed her lips, desperately thinking of something else to keep Petra for just a little while longer. “Actually, could you… show me Brigid’s dance?”

Petra paused in her tracks, blinked a few times, then spun around with a curious expression. “You want to see a dance of Brigid?”

“I mean, it is quite late, and if you don’t want to you don’t have to-” Dorothea stopped herself. How is she ever going to get anywhere with Petra like this? “But yes. I’d very much like to.”

A blooming grin spread across Petra’s face. Suddenly, Dorothea felt as though she was in the greenhouse during the flowering season, surrounded by a sea of bright crimson roses. What beauty and charm-!

“I am very happy to show you our dance! Normally I will dance where there is more space, but your room will be fine.”

Brigid’s dance was a curious spectacle to behold. It deviated from Fódlan’s traditional rigid waltz so greatly that Dorothea was sure many critics wouldn’t even call it a dance. Petra’s leg lunged forwards and her body rolled as if she suddenly were devoid of bones. Her arms shot up and drew circles on top of her head, then arced down and traced eights around her hip, which swayed like it had a mind of its own. Having been educated occasionally in the art of dance during her opera years, the songstress knew exactly what the movement portrayed.

_ Soft are the waves of Brigid _ , Petra conveyed,  _ but it can be turbulent and unstoppable when the tides come _ . In the back of her mind, Dorothea imagined trails of water leaving Petra’s hands. The princess’s arms rose again, but this time slower, and traced a ‘z’ as they came waving down.  _ Sky spirits, bless us with rain! _ She spun in circles, her feet tapping in a steady rhythm, her hands still raised.  _ All hail those above, we send you our prayers _ . Finally, Petra ended by leaping into a hunter’s stance and held it for a few moments, slightly panting. 

The princess straightened up with a proud smile. “I did not practice, so I made some mistakes. But, did you like it?”

“That was nothing short of amazing, Petra. I loved it. In my years in the opera, I've never seen anything come close to that,” Dorothea breathed out. If that wasn’t even her full potential, then how much more amazing can it get? “It kinda makes the waltz seem a little, you know… like you’re a brick sliding around the floor.”

Petra giggled. “Yes, I have understanding. The dance of Fódlan is very hard. Er-” She frowned, searching for the word to clarify her meaning. “Hard to learn, yes, but also very hard… of manner.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is stiff. But yes, it does get kind of suffocating sometimes when you’re doing nothing but spinning in circles,” agreed Dorothea. They fell into an awkward silence, with neither knowing how to respond except for agreeing.  _ Tell her! _ Her heart cried, but she didn’t dare say anything. The old clock sitting on Dorothea’s table decided to chime in, reminding them just how late it had gotten.

“Ah-! I guess you really should be going. It’s past midnight already.” 

Petra hastily nodded. “Yes. I-I should. Good night, Dorothea!” And with that, she slipped out the door, but not before waving and leaving the songstress an adorable grin. The moment the door closed, the room felt just a little colder. 

As Dorthea lay flat on her bed, candles extinguished and her room plunged into darkness, she put a hand over her chest and heard the chimes of her beating heart.

_ You love her _ _ , _ it said, and she agreed. 

_ I do _ _. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone get the reference?  
> fe fates is my first fire emblem game  
> i sort of played the franchise in reverse chronological order  
> in case you have no idea what i'm [talking about](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mHB84WGorA)  
> should I compile a playlist for the songs?

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thanks for dropping by.  
> this is something that has been sitting in my list for a while now. i have quite a tendency to forget about fics and stop writing them for a while, but this is, i feel, something i definitely want to finish.  
> haven't written anything doropetra, and i've always wanted to do something for my lovely girls.  
> so, here it is.  
> i certainly hope it does them justice. they're too adorable.


End file.
